


open up your heart

by dinEli



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/F, First Kiss, Lydia-centric, Malia-centric, Mentions of past canon relationships, Movie: Legally Blonde (2001), POV Lydia Martin, POV Malia Tate, POV Scott McCall, Post 5B, Post-Canon, Scott-Centric, Teen Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-15
Updated: 2016-11-07
Packaged: 2018-06-08 15:24:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6860656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dinEli/pseuds/dinEli
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>And let me pull you out.</i>
</p><p>--</p><p>Or the three times Malia, Lydia, and Scott talk about feelings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Scott

**Author's Note:**

> I'm too anxious to wait until I can write everything, so it's split into three parts. I wanted to have posted this for twfemslashweek, but writing's been so dificult lately- I couldn't make it.
> 
> Anyway, everything major that's happened in canon to these three is somehow discussed in here, so beware :)
> 
> [The title and summary are from a song called "Cameo Lover", from Kimbra, which has inspired this //so much///.]

1.

He knows it’s Malia the moment she steps out of her car, outside on his sidewalk, walking up to his porch with her long stomping footfalls. When he looks to his side, sit by the kitchen table with an AP Bio book opened, he can still see and _feel_ the damage and the remnants of her and Braeden’s fight with the Desert Wolf. By seeing he means the scratches on the walls and the wooden floor, the lack of a few pieces of furniture they were still unable to replace.

By feeling he means the chemosignal-traces of aggression and hate, but also of hurt.

(But especially of power.

Around him is what’s left of a battlefield, of a battle they’ve won.)

Weirdly enough, Malia knocks on his door.

She must know Scott’s alone, so it confuses him she doesn’t just burst in like she does with everything else. Instead she waits, albeit impatiently, knee jerking, until he closes his book, gets up and opens the door for her. His amused half smile and lifted eyebrows slowly move downwards once they look at each other.

Thing is: usually, on the aftermath, there wasn’t much _talking about it_. Scott’d offer, an open invitation to his friends, his pack, to share their burdens with him but-- the last couple of weeks were proof they didn’t exactly believe him. It makes his skin crawl, knowing they’d rather keep it to themselves, and he was working on it, really. On trying new ways to get them to open up; a hand on the shoulder, a concerned look, knocking on their door until they opened and let him in-

(Or maybe talking _himself_ )

Waiting for their own pace to take them to him.

“Is everything okay?”, it’s the most important question, be it personal or external problems. He makes himself get to that state of mind in which he looks forthcoming and sympathetic to whatever his friends are feeling, although sometimes it’s harder to understand them. He’s trying to learn from his mistakes.

Thing is: they haven’t talked about the omission and the bad decisions and the distance. They haven’t talked about their enemies and the pain, trauma and destruction they left in their wake. Learning from their past, Scott thinks this is something they may never do.

But Malia is on his porch with knees jerking and eyes moving. He smiles the largest smile he can having had two hours of sleep and not eaten yet.

(It’s five pm on a Wednesday. With the hours he’s been putting at the animal clinic, Wednesday’s become a work free day. It hasn’t helped much.

In fact, it might have worsened it. Scott likes his thoughts better when they’re distracted.)

\--

Malia follows him wordlessly to the kitchen. Since opening the door, Scott’s were the only words spoken, and to his questioning she just shook her head and shrugged both shoulders, her hair shifting and covering part of her eyes. She also has that look she has when feeling out of place, and it concerns him.

Maybe the cause is whatever she came to talk to him about, but maybe it’s this divide that’s gotten to them all and that they still haven’t figured out. Maybe she’s come to. To solve these small yet relevant problems and miscommunications. Maybe she’s showed up at his doorstep to put an end to it. To cut all ties.

He can’t help but feeling restless as his feet lead them back to the kitchen, the buzzing of the light above their heads and the chairs scraping the floor as they sit the only sound he’s allowed to hear.

Once both are sitting and Scott feels tempted to return to his studies, even to distract himself from whatever chemo-signals his friend might be letting out. It’s a weird combination he won’t try to decipher, either for he expects Malia to tell him or because the feelings they emit are mixed and honestly a tad confusing—he doesn’t know. It is as though the werecoyote herself is trying to make through them, and Scott thinks maybe this is it. They’ll talk about it.

What comes out of her mouth is slightly unexpected.

To say the least.

“How do you court a girl?”, it’s what she says—throwing the words out as she usually speaks.

Scott stops halfway to a glass of milk, mid-passing to the next page, his yellow marker hanging between his middle and ring fingers. “What?”, he’s pretty sure he spits a little on the pages.

“I’ve never really courted anyone—unless you count me punching Stiles and helping him back then which wasn’t exactly my intention to—you know, _do him_ , but I’m not totally displeased by the outcome—only that now I have the _intention_ and I got from Stiles and Lydia that you’re a great flirt so I was wondering if you could--”, he’s still trying to clean the stains on the _library’s_ book (very much not his— _holy shit_ ), and she doesn’t _stop_ -

“Wait, _Stiles_ said I’m a great flirt?”, he splutters, but—“That’s not even my first question…”, the same time she explains, very serious, “Well, he said you’re almost impossible to resist”, and then shrugs as if this isn’t some heavy-blushing piece of information.

Then Malia looks at him expectantly, and that wasn’t what Scott had in mind for them to talk, but, he tells himself, _baby steps_. They’ll get there eventually.

\--

It becomes a problem when Scott has little to no idea as to how to _court_ a girl. He’s worked with his gut and newfound werewolf instincts with Allison, and Kira was just this slow and easy progression he _knows_ isn’t the norm for developing relationships. Then it’s a struggle because—

(He both loves and hates remembering them; the fast pacing and non-stopping onslaught of memories and wishes and hopes and plans and the _pain_.

It becomes an issue because his love life—? Absolute tragedy.)

Up until Malia straight out tells him, reading the look on his face with her hawk eyes, “They all seemed pretty good and healthy to me, for what I’ve gathered…”, and to his questioning frown, because _how why has she gathered information on this_ , “Like, in conversations here and there, you know.”

Because Malia enjoys taking notes on everyone, both careful and caring of others.

Then comes the killing blow, her brown eyes big and vulnerable as she hardly lets herself be seen, but as he’s seen her many times in the past. “You’re also the only person I can trust with this.”

It’s not like he can say “no” to _that_ , but—

“I’m pretty sure _Lydia_ is the most capable of us to talk about relationships, if you’re not comfortable talking to Stiles—“, which is understandable, if she’s interested in someone _else_ ; and he tries not to dwell too much on it, knowing his loyalty lies on both of their happiness, indifferently.

At that, Malia snorts. “As if—Stiles’ only had _me_ for relationship and hadn’t Lydia only dated bad guys…?”, to put it bluntly, and Scott’s starting to build an argument to counterpoint that, something along the lines of _yeah they weren’t exactly ideal but Jackson was just an awful person with issues and Aiden just had too much hunger for power_ — and he was even moving his tongue to form the words although he only half-agreed with them when she finishes, blushing slightly, “And besides—I can’t ask Lydia for advice to court herself”, her head shifts to the right, pensive, “Or would that work?”

And _oh_ —

\--

Instead of over-thinking, he simply answers, “I don’t think you could pull that off; you’re not that good of a liar. She’d know in a second…”, finally closes his book, “Unless that’s what you want?” He hadn’t noticed, but Malia’s at the edge of her sit by the time he finishes speaking.

“No! I want to be _smooth_ ”, at that she does this gesture with her hands, mimicking a wave, and Scott feels a giggle building up at his throat. “And you’re a worse liar than I am”, it comes in a grumble.

He’s breathless from snickering but when he speaks it becomes a tired sigh, “I’m so not.” As an answer, Malia suddenly sobers up. Both look down to the table, and Scott dances his fingers at the edge of it, thinking _did I say too much is this it_ ; he hears the werecoyote swallowing, but her heartbeat is steady.

She whispers, and her voice is this small thing Scott is surprised by, “It’s not about your lying skills, you know… It’s about us not being good friends enough to do something about it.” That catches his attention, his eyes wide, and he responds quickly, guilt eating at him, “It’s not your job to—”

“Is it yours?”, and he’s speaking before she even finishes, already re-creating his arguments, knowing not to share too much despite wanting to, “If it were, I’d be doing pretty bad at it.”

It’s meant to be playful, but when looking up again, Malia’s serious, eyebrows thrown together which always makes her seem angry rather than worried. Carefully, in a way he honestly didn’t know she could speak, although he must have known better when it comes to his friends, she says, “You don’t have to know everything about us— I know you care, but you can’t be everywhere and remedy all of our problems. What you can and you have done is offering— being here, and letting us work our things ourselves. Then, when we’re ready to ask for help, we will.”

Slowly, this dawning realization, he knows they’re already in it, _talking about it_. It’s both terrifying and relieving. The words go straight through him, though. He sees them as comfort he doesn’t deserve, an excuse, a prepared speech that, although sincere, doesn't reach his core. These are words he’s heard before, has thought about and told himself, but he’s a practical thinker, and _words_ , letters formed into sentences and spoken, unfortunately, mean little to him. Although he uses them, he favors actions, always. And, this time, they’re conflicting.

“But you haven’t”, he mutters to his closed book, the cover greenish with images of cells in red and blue.

\--

“Haven’t what?”, she’s back to snappish, and part of Scott revels in the normalcy. It’s a shame this is a conversation he doesn’t want to have anymore, still, he pushes through, continuing to stare at his book, “It broke us in the past. You all had issues and I didn’t know—”, it’s not an answer rather than an explanation, the words escaping from his grasp.

“But that was on us, Scott, not on you! And if we didn’t want to involve you, it was our decision. You couldn’t have controlled this.”, by the end of her rant, her tannish cheeks are flushed, and her fingers are wrapped around the edges of the table separating them.

His answer, in contrast, is a bitter small thing, “I could have helped— maybe I could’ve helped you!”, they both slump back to the back of their chairs at the same time, “Maybe things would’ve been easier.”

“We were trying to protect you”, the answer comes in a similar tone.

It brings a memory and a choked laughter out of him. Malia’s scowl returns suddenly, cautious, she spits, “What?”

“And you want _me_ to give you relationship advice?”, he’s shaking his head all the while. It’s ironic, in the least, that they’ve got to this part of their discussion, and that it takes them back to how it started, yet without making him feel any better. Malia just frowns harder. “My love life’s been a disaster from day one—”, there’s no mirth in his smile, but his shoulders shift with it nonetheless. “I lie—and in my head I feel like I’m doing it for them, for a good purpose, but to be honest I’ve done it for myself. And it backfires, always”, it ends sad and bitter and even a little angry. It makes him angry, his face twisting with it, nostrils flaring, eyes turned downwards.

“You mean you’ve lied to Kira—”, Malia starts, but he interrupts her right away, feeling like a child about to be scolded, for some reason. But lately that’s all he’s been feeling, during the fallout, seeing action and reaction before him. He’s a general by the end of a battle, thinking on what’s been lost and what’s been gained and measuring, weighting; at the end, it falls on his shoulders, and although he tries not to feel it, it only gets heavier.

“To Allison too”, is what he says. “In both cases, I wanted to protect them. I hid things from them, and somehow those things drove them away”, Malia’s answering snort is followed by, “Maybe it wasn’t about you”, in her blunt voice, her shoulders shrugging. But he’s thought of that too.

“Maybe; but my omission helped, you know? I could’ve—”, he sounds more tired than he means to let on, but it’s out there now, no turning back. “You could have, but you didn’t”, Malia says back at him. “Trust me; it doesn’t help to dwell on the past. We should just—”, she’s moving her hands, her eyes reminiscing.

“Move forward.”

\--

“Yes”, and she smiles for the first time since arriving, nodding to herself, as if that was their conclusion and the issues were solved. Which— they aren’t, not by far, but—

Maybe they’ll never be, and all they _can_ do is to keep walking. And this isn’t something that has never crossed his mind, but he needs to be reminded, or to remind himself, otherwise he gets stuck.

There’s still too much running under the bridge, but at least its foundations were strong again.

“Uh, I don’t even know if Lydia likes girls…?”, he gets back to the topic, after a short silence descends on them, scratching his head lightly. He knows they’ll only run in circles if they continue that discussion, yet he’s happy they had it, relieved to have talked to someone about the things that’ve been bothering him, that at least Malia apparently doesn’t blame him for anything, that at least they seem to be okay. “I didn’t even know _you_ liked girls? Or Lydia. I—I didn’t notice”, he ends lamely.

As an answer, Malia shrugs nonchalantly, and honestly that sort of answer should not be a surprise.

“Will you help me?”, she dares, almost, and it’s as if he could answer with anything other than a small smile and a sighed “Yeah, of course.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are more discussion of feelings to come, I assure you :) At first I felt like it was incomplete, but since this is only part one, and since issues are never really over, I think I'm happy with it. Tell me if I shouldn't be! I'm uncharacteristically nervous about this.  
> Take care,
> 
> And if you want, I'm on [tumblr](https://a-good-finder.tumblr.com), and it'd be nice to talk about whatever :)


	2. Lydia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tbh, I wanted to post this chapter for the text exchange alone; that might be the cutest thing I've ever written. Then it got bigger than expected.
> 
> Also, if you don't like Legally Blonde, this chapter may be a problem.

2.

The first and most important step when waking up is to check for restrains. Is she inside her mind or her bedroom? Are there straps trapping her wrists? Her ankles? Is she dressed with her own nightgown?

There is always the initial panic, this dread in _not knowing_ and then, even worse, the slow ascend to consciousness, and what will she see when she opens her eyes? Will it be her own ceiling?

_Is she safe?_

As soon as these steps have been completed, checked, inspected, scrutinized, and rechecked just to be sure— _then_ she can start her daily routine. Only once she’s secure—of herself and the physical space around her, of her own safety; only then does Lydia remove her covers, her silky nightgown, and wrap her hair in a band, loose and careless; she stretches, makes her bed, puts her clothes inside her wardrobe, and sets the ones which are the most suitable for jogging, along with making her look hotter—

And that are _also_ flexible enough she can either fight or run for her life in them.

A girl’s gotta have some priorities.

She checks her own image in the mirror while brushing her teeth, going over her schedule for the day, the way she’s taught herself since a very young age, in a way to improve the use of her time, so that she _could_ be both pretty smart and, well, _pretty_ —unlike what her sexist father used to warn her about.

The clinical aspect of these mornings is maybe what’s saved her from losing her mind; but, them being clinical, she can’t exactly dwell on it too much; otherwise she’d waste precious time.

Time is hers. This toothbrush is hers. These polyamide clothes are hers as well. This is her body, this is her mind, she tells herself over and over. These are her movements, her limbs. It’s hers, and nobody else’s.

\--

_Clean the outer surfaces of your upper teeth. Inhale through your nose. Then clean the inner surfaces of your upper teeth. Exhale through your mouth. Clean the outer surfaces of your lower teeth. Inhale through your nose. Clean the inner surfaces of your lower teeth. Exhale through your mouth._

_Spit the foam. Inhale through your nose._

_Clean the chewing surfaces. Exhale through your mouth._

_Your breath still tastes stale, so brush your tongue. Inhale through your nose._

_Spit the foam. Exhale through your mouth._

_Put water in the glass by your sink. Inhale through your nose slowly._

_Drink it._

_Spit in the sink._

_Exhale._

_Do not let it control you. Control it first._

\--

She’s been following her schedule perfectly up until someone ringing the front gate’s bell interrupts her meticulous studying of sound waves and oscillations. It’s a distraction and an interruption—and it startles her in a way her whole body shifts downwards, dread filling her gut. Luckily, it’s the same time her cellphone notifies a new message, and it reads _it’s me, i’m outside_.

_i know you’ve been studying since 1pm_

_the ice cream is melting lydia_

It says in a succession of messages full of snowy crunchy-faced emojis, and though unplanned, she can’t help but smile, set her books aside and type back, her eyes bright and amused, _the ice cream is not melting lydia_

_yet_

\--

There’s been a time, maybe during their initial rapprochement, that it seemed strange to Lydia how well she and Scott got along. They have an understanding of each other, this balance in treatment. Rapport, respect— the whole two-way street thing she’s found in their pack of misfits. It’s the mutuality she must have noticed has always been there, but only now, after all these battles won and lost, does she really appreciate it as it is—friendship.

“Ready for some brain-freezing ice cream and some heart-warming movies?”, Scott smiles at his own corniness, and she can’t help but let loose a little as well, as if being allowed, rolling her eyes and inviting him inside with a nod. “How’s the research going?”, he asks when they hit her room, looking around the mess of physics books all over her bed.

As an answer, she makes three _tsk_ ing sounds with her tongue, pointing at her laptop by her vanity all the while, saying, “It’s been clearly interrupted, so don’t even start. I’ll get spoons for us and you’ll set the movie.”

“Yes, ma’am”, comes the answer once she leaves to the kitchen.

\--

It’s not weird.

Her fingers grip the kitchen’s counter.

Control slipping.

\--

When she returns to her room, spoons in hand, Scott’s sit at the edge of her bed, his fingers softly touching the mess of papers she’s been studying and arranging since discovering the new range of her powers. “You planning on adding this to the Bestiary?”, he asks, clearly having noticed her arrival.

“Been thinking about it”, she answers honestly, making her way to the bed; then she starts collecting the clutter of papers, books, pencils, and markers spread on her comforter. Unsurprisingly, Scott sets his ice cream aside and gets up to help her, saying, “It’d be nice if one day we could share this with others—all the things we’ve learnt, you know…”

Then maybe these others’ paths would be easier; simpler than theirs.

“You mean shorten their journey? So they won’t have to go through life-threatening situations in order to learn?”, her tone is aloof, she makes a sound from the back of her throat, raises her eyebrow, the whole charm. “What’s the fun in that?”

There’s amusement in Scott’s eyes, and he cocks his head to one side, says, “Wouldn’t want them to get used to it being easy, ain’t it? How that old saying goes…? With great power comes—”

“Do _not_ quote Spiderman in this room”, she finishes arranging her papers, half-falling fake-loosely at the west edge of her bed. This is a Lydia-move, a hand by her hip, the other holding her head, sharp eyes and glossed-up smirk; Scott responds by smiling cheekily, cute dimples appearing. She can’t help but letting her posture go a little, here, now. It’s not about playing Lydia, but also being Lydia, showing Lydia. It won’t backfire.

“Gimme that ice cream”, she sighs, mock-annoyed, “I hope to god you’ve gotten me my favorite”, although she knows he has, because who is she kidding, they’re best friends now.

\--

“Well, the rules of movie dating are simple and finite. Any Cosmo boy would have known”, he speaks while she opens the ice cream lid. Lydia looks up just as he uncovers an old battered “Legally Blonde” case; she actually _gasps_ , Scott’s answering smile is so wide his dimples remind her of quotation marks. “I _knew_ it’d be your favorite!”

Lydia’s grin is a private thing, but she can’t deny the fondness that swells up in her chest at his dorky air-fist pump. “It might be”, she says.

“It _is_! You’re such an Elle”, he even laughs a little.

“Well, so are you!”, she points a finger at his face, but they’re grinning, it’s happy. Then she adds, cheeky, a shrug and a hair-sweep. “Like it’s hard!”

They’re still smiling quietly while he puts the DVD inside her laptop, and it’s not even weird teenagers like them use old technologies like these, because it’s not as if they have _time_ to follow every single update; it’s not weird Mason’s the only one with a Netflix account he won’t even share with Liam. They barely have time to _live_ , to have the _basic_ — it’s frustrating, and the worst part is—she looks at Scott, at his focus while putting the movie, arranging the pillows and the laptop for them to watch it comfortably, a normal teenager.

The worst part is they’ve gotten used to it—but in all honesty, “…It is hard, isn’t it?”

The menu plays over and over, all pink titles and quick movie scenes; Scott looks at her in that way of his, focused and attentive. “Getting into Harvard? Depends on who you’re asking”, he’s evading.

Maybe that’s what he thinks she wants.

It’s not. She’s not sure what it is, but it’s more.

It’s freer.

\--

_This is jumping up and down on a trampoline, eyes-closed because you know the wired-walls will protect you from falling sideways. You know the coiled springs will give you force to go higher and higher, in a way only your skinny seven-year-old legs just won’t do. You know the fabric which you’re jumping on is strong enough that, even stretched like that, it won’t rip. You won’t be hurt._

_You can jump for as long as your mother allows you to, or the kids lining up and making angry faces at you by stealing their time will let you._

_Your dress’ skirt ballooning around your thighs. Your fiery hair a halo around your face. It’s freedom in its purest form._

\--

“That too—”, she spills, still nervous out of her mind, “but I mean… Us. We’re Elle because it _is_ hard to accomplish what we have”, both sit by her headboard, her plush pillows softening their backs. Lydia crosses her ankles, takes a spoon of her very strawberry-flavored ice cream.

“I guess that means we’re incredible”, Scott’s quiet as he mutters this, trying to lighten the mood, and Lydia can only hope he believes it. She sure as hell does.

\--

As usual, a thought crosses her mind, and she thinks Allison would believe they’re incredible as well. She always did. Not only their supernatural shenanigans, but _them_. No masks, no shields, no pretense at hiding from her hawk eyes. She’s always seen them better than they saw themselves.

\--

It’s distressing Lydia’s never gotten to really do _this_ with her.

_Or anyone else, for that matter, boyfriends excluded. Maybe she used to be lonely; but that’s not a problem anymore._

It’s even more distressing she’s doing it with Scott. Scott’s doing it with _her_.

Pretty sure he hadn’t ever done this with Allison either; there hasn’t been _time_.

It’s always a slap to the face, a punch to the gut.

An ear piercing scream.

She’s gone through their lives too quickly.

They didn’t have time to enjoy it.

_All the things they could have done._

She hits play.

\--

Once they start watching, though, most thoughts vanish while faced with a story at least Lydia knows so well. She used to watch this movie three to four times a week, learning Elle’s gestures and understanding from her what she could also achieve. It showed her possibilities.

Their attention is in the movie, and it’s as if Elle’s story is a cover for their own.

Being covered, it appears to Lydia they can truly speak. No brain to mouth filter, _no pretense at hiding_.

\--

They’re _so good_ at hiding. At rebuilding. At recomposing.

They’re terrible at it. They’re too desperate for someone to see.

\--

Scott’s the first. As with everything else that’s changed in her life, he’s the starter.

“Warner kind of reminds me of Jackson”, Lydia’s halfway to her thousandth ice cream spoon, can’t help but snort a little. “Not really seeing what was right in front of him”, he adds. Although she has to disagree with the last part, knowing better.

“He did, though. I think he just didn’t know how to show it. He had this huge crazy baggage”, a click of her tongue. In the movie, Elle’s eating chocolate and sulking.“But nowadays, who doesn’t.”

Their tones are monotone, almost. Their faces glued to the laptop screen. Are frat girls really that supportive?

“Do you guys still talk?”, Scott asks, like he can’t help it.

“No. He left. It’s contra-productive. Last time I talked to him was when…”

“Allison”, they finish at the same time. Not their favorite event. Lydia’s pretty sure that’s a dress she’ll never use again in her life.

“Do you?”, then she’s curious, although Elle’s started studying for the LSATs.

“Sometimes.”

“Really?”, she can’t deny Reese Witherspoon looked her absolute cutest.

“Yeah, I weirdly consider him a friend. I e-mail him almost every month.”

“Wouldn’t expect him to respond.”

“The first time I thought the same. But he did. So I kept a habit.”

“Do you do this with everyone?”, it’s a leading question, and Elle learns fast, she’s a true talent, indeed. What a genius, you’d never expect it just from looking at her.

_They’re Elle. They exceed expectations left and right._

“You mean… Ethan, Derek…”

“Deucalion…”

\--

“You think I shouldn’t”, it’s a matter of fact.

“I think Deucalion should be impaled and paraded around town, but I understand why you did it. It was quite the good idea. The others… I just find weird”, just like that, she’s in Harvard.

“That they’d talk to me?”

“That you’d talk to them.”

“‘Course I would. They’re friends”, he’s so earnest. They overdo with the pink, it’s almost too much.

“Even Cora?”

“I mostly hear from her through Derek. So no.But yeah—Isaac, Derek, Ethan, old foes. I need to keep tabs on them.”

“For help?”

“For safety. Theirs and ours.”

“You sound like a general”, Elle’s meeting Vivian for the first time, she’s such a stereotype. Lydia loves this movie.

“Sometimes”, it’s no surprise, that he’d see himself like this. Are all college professors ridiculous and full of themselves?

“Does that make us your soldiers?”

“We’re teenagers. We’re friends”, then he swallows. Elle doesn’t know how act in that environment. “Who sometimes act as soldiers. Everybody’s gotta strategize to live, I guess.”

“Can’t argue with that.”

“Do you blame me for that? For not saving you sooner. For being logical.”

\--

“What?!”

That didn’t even cross her mind. She pauses the movie, turns to him. Scott’s frowning at the screen as if upset she paused on that dude David’s face.

“Why would I _think_ that. You _saved_ me.” _Ugh, why did she start that conversation? Why did she pause the movie?_ Better to out with it, however; they’re friends now. He needs to understand that. They can talk. “One way or the other, you’ve always saved me. I’ve never thought otherwise.”

Elle’s so upfront about who she is, and they try to change her.

“But I failed you. Theo left you catatonic in the woods. You could’ve died.”

She’s the object of the phrase whenever Theo or Peter is involved. It’s the worst feeling, and Lydia hates it; when it hits her. Hates being the object of any sentence, any clause. It burns her from the inside out; it terrifies her.

But then, so must Scott.

“You _did_ die. Do _you_ blame me for not warning you?”

“You felt it…”, like he’s never even thought about it. Aren’t they all connected?

“Yes, I did”, the conviction in her voice might convince him why. He touches her hand.

They still can’t look each other in the eye. Dorky David is still paused and still looks… dorky.

Scott’s hand twitches outside of hers. They both have been biting their nails. “Why do they always screw us over?”

The laugh that pours out of Lydia is instantaneous and spontaneous and also pretty inappropriate, if you ask her; Scott follows with a snicker, his quotation marks reappearing. It bugs her their movie is paused, but she’s thought about this too.

In the end, it’s a simple answer.

“Opportunity”, Lydia says, “I always think it’s opportunity. We’re the biggest threat. The most useful instrument. It’s about how can we aid their plans and how can we ruin them.”

It’s about being objects in their sentences. It’s about what they do with it, Lydia and Scott. How they transform themselves into agents, the most important pronouns in a phrase. It’s about changing the tides.

(Lydia’s not sure if it’s considered a spoiler that Elle will do that pretty soon into the movie. This is that kind of movie in which you already know what to expect.)

“I would never blame you for not saving me. I trust you. I trust your judgment. If you weren’t there, you were somewhere else.”

“ _Thank you_ ”, in his soft gentle voice, his grip hardens for then to let go of her hand.

\--

Lydia knows belief can save lives, she’s seen it. Damn, the silly yet amazing movie they’re watching proves it.

Yet she’s never testified it like this.

Throughout their adventures, she’s noticed a few things. A lot. Immense. Huge things.

They’re still young teenage kids trying to get some acknowledgment for their sacrifices.

\--

“And I know you don’t blame me. Because you’re reasonable and the nicest person I’ve ever met”, that’s also a matter of fact.

She replays the movie.

\--

“You don’t think I’ve done some shitty things…?”, he says it barely as a question.

“Are you talking about Hayden and Corey?”, Lydia _loves_ Paulette. She’s outspoken yet bashful, beautiful and powerful. She doesn’t waver in her beliefs, yet she’s trapped and lost. Maybe that’s why Elle latches onto her.

Most people are desperate for saving.

They look straight at the screen for this. It’s time for the _Bend and Snap_ scene; funnily enough, Lydia’s never had to try that technique. She’s about to tell that to Scott, but—

“I meant _all_ of them. You know Tracy and Josh are dead…?”

It stings. He means they couldn’t help them. They didn’t. Her voice’s the smallest when she answers, “I know”

“It was Deucalion’s influence—”

Reason two for never having used the _Bend and Snap_ is that she’s always been good at reading men, and Scott’s the easiest to read, even when he’s trying his hardest to hide. He’s so transparent sometimes.

“Was it by your hands?”

“ _No_.”

“So it wasn’t you.”

“Corey was”, here they are again. Lydia readjusts herself on her bed; she knows how to discuss this, she can make him see what she does.

“But I think you understand that. You believe in forgiveness more than any of us do. Why can’t you forgive yourself?”

Elle’s going through her big bunny-costume transformation, but Lydia’s focus is elsewhere.

“You think I deserve it?”

“Would you do it again?”

“Maybe…”, he swallows.“That’s the worst part.”

“Would you do it differently?”

“ _Yes_ …”, the problem is that he doesn’t sound certain.

She pauses the movie again. It’s not as if this is their first time watching and they can’t miss any details, but this is more important.

“Well, you could have asked.”

“He’d say no. We didn’t have time.”

“You didn’t consider him...”

“All I saw was my guilt and Liam and Hayden. It could’ve killed them. Him. I didn’t see him at all. It’s the worst thing.” Scott falls into himself as he speaks, and it’s startling.

That day—Lydia won’t lie, not to herself, and not to Scott, if he ever asks. That day, she saw herself afraid of him. He was too brisk, too edgy. Even before that, when he came to her for help in order to plan a capture, desperate to catch one of them before they killed Hayden too. Kids were dying and it was eating at him in a way she had never seen before.

Probably Theo’s fault, that son of a bitch.

Then, as she confronted him, the way his face twitched, the light that went by his eyes.

He knew as well, the causes, the consequences.

 _God, they need to move on_.

\--

“Ok. See Elle.” She’s using her school presentation / dad explanation voice; Scott’s confused by the _non sequitur_ ; the movie is still paused. “She starts Law School for all the wrong reasons. She doesn’t fit in. She doesn’t understand them. But then, she decides she would, she’d become just like them. Again, for all the wrong reasons. Slowly, her own personality takes over, because you can’t fake for too long, it wasn’t who she was. So she adapts. She doesn’t go back fully to who she was. She becomes something else. A new Elle. A better Elle, I’d also like to add. Which is what you did”, then Lydia finishes with a minor flourish of her hands.

 _Tcharan_ , problem solved!

“You mean _we_ did”, Scott adds, a small smile on his lips.

Quotation marks.

They finally look at each other. And start laughing.

She can’t say why, and even if she could, it wouldn’t matter.

What matters then is the feeling.

\--

“You know you should write an essay about this”, Scott jokes as he presses play again. Elle’s back in action on full force.

For a second, Lydia’s enthralled by her, as she’s been as a pre-pubescent girl. “You think I haven’t?!”

“What was the grade?”

“Am I not Lydia Martin?”

“A?”

“Plus.” Then they laugh even more; Elle’s friends are the best. Lydia remembers wanting friends like that, not knowing how mean, childish, and ridiculous it was she also expected them to be skinny, beautiful, and stylish.

Not so ridiculous, if she thinks her best friend was _Allison_.

The point stands; Lydia doesn’t think she’s heard enough of Scott’s laugh, or his jokes. Up until Allison started describing them in detail, she didn’t believe he _could_ smile.

They should do this more.

“Please tell me you were at least 15.”

“You don’t remember that project about life lessons? The teacher made us watch Coach Carter or some similar cliché.”

“We were like 12! I can’t believe you… Is there anything you _can’t_ do?”

Is it weird she’s always thought Vivian and Elle would make a great couple?

It’s not weird, her best friend’s a werewolf.

Speaking of. “Well my love life is pretty terrible”, Scott gives a sharp laugh, brushes her arm with his elbow.

“Ditto, buddy.”

_Ok, what?_

“Oh, shut up! You’ve dated _Allison_ and _Kira_!!”

Is he serious? Doesn’t he have the least self-awareness?

“As in the past, as in not anymore, as in ended in tragedy and heartache”, he even seems embarrassed saying this, and honestly, Lydia’s about to open a hole on—

( _It’s not triggering if it’s a joke, is it?_

 _They have to move on._ )

Her point being, “As in it was wonderful while it lasted! To everyone with _eyes_!”

“Still hurts”, she’s sure it must, but she won’t let it go sour; also, her ice cream is almost over.

“Well, I’ve dated Jackson my whole life…”

“Now you’re just being dramatic.”

“Who was the first couple in middle school?”

“Oh my god, you and Jackson!”, it’s hilarious because Scott actually looks appalled at that, his face younger, even. Have they ever talked like this?

Why haven’t they always talked like this?

“Exactly. I practically _made_ him. And then he lizards me up.” Scott snorts loudly, ice cream pops out of his nose, it’s super gross. Lydia can’t stop giggling. “Then I had some affairs, hook ups, which were great, don’t misinterpret me.”

“And Aiden…?” He’s back to bashful, as if afraid this is a conversation Lydia won’t want to have.

He’s wrong, though; the flood gates have been opened.

Professor Callahan is such a gross ass old man, but Lydia thinks she could handle someone like him. Hell, she’s handled _Peter_.

“Yes, good sex”, she suddenly feels like a horrible person. Then suddenly doesn’t want to talk about that anymore, but the gates have already been opened. “Though it was very unhealthy; he was a bad guy for a while, had some skewed world views.”

“They’ve been through some horrible things”, of course that’s what Scott would say.

“So have we, that’s no excuse.”

“I know. But he was _becoming_ a good guy. They had good intentions.”

“Maybe that’s the worst part”, and there lies the truth, bare and vulnerable. They weren’t, but they _could_ be.

\--

There’s a beat, a lull in their conversation. Brooke’s case was so brilliantly written; Lydia loves every second of it. Her character, as well. In secrecy, she has all these layers; but for show, she’s shallow and one-sided.

“Can I ask you something?”

“You ask, I watch the movie…” She’s so relaxed, but his tone makes her backtrack, raise an eyebrow. “Unless it’s invasive.”

“What’s going on between you and Parrish?” Scott says it all in one breath, and it’d be cute if it weren’t such a strange question. Lydia has to pause the movie again.

“I can’t decipher your tone.”

“I’m wary.”

“Because…?”

“He’s like 30…?” He sounds uncertain.

“You’re not sure.”

“Actually no, I’ve never asked.”

That deserves a long sigh. Lydia herself doesn’t understand what happens between them. Only one part of their relationship is easy to explain, though, so she latches on to it. “We’re just… Bonded, I think. We’re connected.”

“Okay. It’s okay. I just worry”, he’s the one who presses play this time, as if trying to change the subject. It’s one of those things, however. Again, Lydia wants to talk, to share. It’s a good feeling; she’s not used to it.

“He won’t take advantage of me, Scott. It’s possible _I_ might take advantage of _him_. Which I kinda did when we were training.” He blushes, she winks. “Like you wouldn’t want to”, that elicits a loud laugh from him. It feels like winning.

“I think you know me far too well.” He’s very embarrassed, it’s pretty cute, and Lydia recalls Allison’s words on his blushes. It doesn’t sting as much, thinking of her like this.“I don’t—I don’t get, you know.”

“Horny, hard?”, now she’s just playing him. Boys are such funny beings.

“God! No!”, she laughs even more, he’s appalled again. “Attracted! I don’t get a—I don’t get attracted like that.”

On screen, it’s a pleasure to see Vivian and Elle feeling sympathy for each other; and that’s another thing Lydia’s friends have thaught her well.

“What do you mean?”

“It needs to be special.”

 _Of course it would_ , and Lydia almost wants to roll her eyes at him, but instead of fond she’s afraid he might find her offensive. “That’s weird”, she ends up saying, holding her laughter at the Enrique’s first appearance. Nowadays she knows it’s rude and a terrible representation, and then she notices what she’s said to Scott just now wasn’t exactly better.

He’s already been hit, though. “Is it?”

“A little. But only because it’s different. Not bad. Sorry… It’s not bad.”

_That’s the thing with their Alpha, isn’t it? He’s so strong, yet they’re all terrified of hurting his feelings. It might have something to do with how open his heart is, how trusting; it reflects on their protectiveness. She remembers how Stiles used to be around him before the rest of the pack “proved their worth”—meaning risked their lives in hellish situations. That’s the one way in to their circle, it appears._

Those are weird thoughts to be having.

The whole gay stereotype is such a down part to the movie. How did Elle Woods let this happen to her story—

_Oh my god._

“Wait,” she even pauses the movie for that, although they’re slowly reaching the climax, “—can it happen with boys as well?”

For once, Scott was pretty involved with Brooke’s trial; he turns to look at Lydia slowly, seriousness all over his face.

“I guess… Love is love, right? But— _What_?” Scott actually looks surprised, eyes wide and eyebrows high, as if not understanding the chaos which is happening on his friend’s face. Honestly, she was expecting him to deny, or laugh bashfully and say “ _no_ ” or “ _maybe once but then he went to France_ ”— _that_ wouldn’t be surprising.

It’s just—he seemed so casual; Lydia can’t help it.

“You look like such a straight little boy!!”, _God, she’s a horrible person_.

“I also look human, Lydia. Images can be deceiving”, he’s even smiling a bit. That’s so disconcerting.

Also, they still have ice creams, she’s just found out Scott McCall is bisexual, “Legally Blonde” is her favorite movie; this conversation _will not_ go sour.

“You _are_ half human.”

“Well, the straight example still applies.”

“So… you like both?”, this is not a thread she will ever let go.

“I think, I don’t know. It’s not like we had time to contemplate sexuality lately.”

And it goes down the drain again.

Lydia concedes him that, nodding and pressing play again. It’s near the end of the movie. Will it be weird if she asks to watch it again?

\--

“Do you?”, comes from him a couple scenes later. Brooke’s stepdaughter with the big hair is lying her ass off; what a newbie.

“What?”

“Like both?”

She’s distracted, trying to think whether or not _she_ would have solved that case. Law school is _not_ part of her plan, at all, but she can’t distance herself from the challenge, the spotlight, the victory.

“Maybe…”, it’s her instant response. She doesn’t think it over, analyze it. There are maybe images that go through her mind, and it’s not something she’s mulled over in that specific light, but—

This isn’t new either.

“That’s cool.”

“Is it?”

“Yeah—”

“I’ve never thought about it before”, if they’re being honest.

“But you are now.”

“Huh.”

“You’re a banshee, Lydia. That’s like so less weird” On screen, Elle’s desperate for a slip. Beside her, Scott’s almost smirking at her, and she can’t help but show him her tongue.

It’s unnaturally pink due to their soon to be gone ice cream.

“Shut up, wolfboy.”

\--

“Wait, does that mean we were both attracted to Allison?”

“ _No way_!!!!!!??” She meant _yes_.

“Are we both attracted to Stiles?”

“I don’t think I’m half into him as you are, but I can appreciate a pretty face”, Scott’s whole face lights up at that, eyes crinkling while he laughs. Lydia can’t help but laugh along.

\--

Her favorite part about the movie, though, is the friendship amongst women. She’s seen everywhere how society usually pitches them against each other. Hell, Lydia had her first real friend when she was 16 years old! To this day she doesn’t know how they became such good friends, she and Allison; either the shit that’s happened in their lives has brought them closer, or themselves, their will to not lose each other.

They were so different…

And even after everything—after _losing_. Lydia’s found herself not alone again. Her friends are still so different from her, but they’re hers.

She’s never shown Allison her love for Elle Woods, but Lydia doesn’t think she’d understand. They knew enough about each other.

Truth is, they shared what Allison’s time with them allowed. Whatever was left wasn’t necessary. It doesn’t do well in dwelling on that.

\--

Also, their friends grew. Lydia blames Scott, but she’s happy with their pack. She trusts these people with her life, and she knows they trust theirs with her as well.

 _What are the odds_ , she thinks, as Elle verbally kicks the shit out of Chutney using her knowledge of hair treatment. Then a thought, frightening, enlightening, strikes her. It’s so powerful, she feels week at the knees.

It’s a well-known fact that this Emmett dude is too big of a doofus to deserve Elle’s affection. It’s good to see her with someone who appreciates her for who she is, though; Lydia can certainly relate.

Yet.

\--

Lydia wants the trampoline. It doesn’t make much sense, but it’s what leads her to ask, “Have you ever been in love with a boy?”

She’s spilling bits of herself too far out, but Lydia doesn’t know how else to approach this—it isn’t new, that’s the thing. It’s crossed her mind countless times, yet now there’s a spotlight over it, like this is a wanted criminal on the loose for too long.

The ending credits are rolling, there’s nothing else to focus on but this.

Lydia trusts Scott, though, that’s the center of it all.

“I might have. Why?”

“Is it different from a girl?”

Why would it be, though? Suddenly she feels like an inexperienced teenage girl, completely out of her depth.

“I don’t think so. I mean, they are different, but every person is different, so the love, the affection—like, it’ll be different too, right?”

“Right.” She swallows, it’s a turmoil in her head.

\--

Honestly, Lydia half expects Scott to ask _why_ , to make assumptions, to be just as witty about this as she was about everything else before. The whole love thing. It’s not meant to be taken so seriously.

Of course he wouldn’t; for him, it’s always special, whatever that means to him.

She’s scared of what it means to her, now.

Thing is, he turns to her, licking his fingers clean off whatever was left of their ice cream; he turns to her and, very seriously, says, “You can talk to me about anything— you know that, right? Even if it’s not supernatural or life-threatening. We’re not just soldiers.”

His eyes are as brown as they ever were, deep and meaningful, and she believes him whole-heartedly.

But this is not a secret she can be split from just yet, she needs to test it out on her own.

“I know. Honestly, I think we just had. Talked about everything”, it’s a lie, and he knows it.

It won’t be long, though.

They haven’t moved from their spot; the credits roll on forever, and Lydia remembers knowing all these songs by heart once.

That was a long time ago, it seems. It _is_ a 2001 movie.

\--

There are running thoughts racing her mind. There always are. Usually, though, she can keep track on them. It’s important to control them—where they go, where they come from. Sometimes it might save a life, stop her from going insane, help her solve a puzzle.

“Just come to me when you need to talk”, Scott asks. He more pleads than orders, and looking at his eyes Lydia understands why.

After everything, Theo couldn’t break them, so he broke each one individually.

They’re so much stronger together; no masks, no hiding.

No keeping.

\--

It’s like jumping, around Scott. She just hopes he feels it too, so she answers, conviction pouring into every word, “As long as you promise the same thing.”

What she doesn’t say is: this is essential; you mean to us what we mean to you; you are important. _Please, feel important._

“I do”, he says, almost as an afterthought.

Lydia doesn’t think this is what he expected from their movie date. It isn’t what she expected either, but she’s thankful, and she hopes he is as well.

Meanwhile, the credits are over. Elle Woods rocks Harvard on a loop.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry!! I know some awesome folks have commented on the last chapter, and maybe these same folks were upset I just didn't update, so I'm very sorry. Truth is, mental illness sucks and it usually pushes me away from the things I like the most to do.
> 
> Hope you've enjoyed it, though; Lydia's been so hard to write! I'd like to thank Elle Woods and my brother Lucas for helping me with it; they're unstoppable [winks]
> 
> Also, Malia's part might take a while, FYI. These girls are very difficult, I'm not used to them. And I'll ignore s06 for self-preservation, just so you know.
> 
> xx
> 
> And if you want, I'm on [tumblr](https://a-good-finder.tumblr.com), and it'd be nice to talk about whatever :)


	3. Malia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know what happened, but here it is, the last chapter. Less talk, more kissing noises.
> 
> Enjoy your reading!

3.

School isn’t difficult.

Of course, some bits of school are difficult, but all in all, Malia thinks she’s adapting fairly well. The food is pretty terrible, some teachers stank heavy with misery and despair, and don’t even get her started on the _students_ ; but honestly, school’s the easiest part of being a teenager, that’s her conclusion.

Not like, being at school. That’s very difficult. There’s too much happening when you’re teenager and you find yourself in a high school hallway. Not always good, almost always bad.

Shenanigans.

Usually the thoughts are the hardest. Not that she can _read_ them, but worst of all, _smell_ them. Pent up sexual frustration, released sexual frustration, sex, desire to have sex, sadness for not having sex, jealousy over other people having sex, longing for someone sexually, yada yada yada. It has a very distinct scent.

Seriously, Math problems lately are the _least_ of her problems.

It’s probably because she’s been mastering the art of equations with more than one incognito, but also most probably because she’s been more _aware_.

Don’t get her wrong; Malia’s been aware of sex scents from day one. They’re very peculiar, and she’s a teenager. However, these past few months have been such a roller-coaster from hell, there hasn’t been much time to dwell on anything other than _survival_. School was impossible for the whole new reason of wandering around its halls thinking _who’s gonna drop next_ and _how else can we fail each other_ , it was a nightmare.

Except she’s never been more awake.

Since then, she knows something’s different. Not only in herself, but about her friends.

Considering what they’ve been through, it’s possible _everything_ ’s different, but she’s trying the optimistic approach, and she’s also neither stupid nor shallow. She understands layers now, more than ever; she understands building and demolishing new and old ones, layers. Like reeds of a tree, she understands there are some you just can’t destroy without killing the tree itself, the same way that the bark’s the first to be lost when the wind hits hard enough.

That’s what happened to them, she thinks. They’re all sensible skin now, vulnerable while it hasn’t hardened yet.

\--

Sometimes the most difficult part of school is the focusing. She hates waiting, and school’s all about everything at its time. You have a time to study, to talk to your friends, to eat, to pee. If you’re hungry or have diarrhea and it’s not the appropriated moment, then you’re a bother.

Malia’s been learning not to be a bother, so it’s torture to watch the slowness of the clock before it hits the end of this day’s classes. She just hopes nobody’s noticed her chewed pencil, but it’s a mild concern while the bell rings and her long legs run towards Scott’s locker, sense memory being the only reason she grabs her books before going.

\--

One thing that’s annoyed Malia about Scott in the past was how slow he was.

Not intellectually, or emotionally, or in any way, really.

But—his movements, sometimes. He doesn’t even _look_ like a powerful creature of the night, looking at him. His fingers patiently roll his locker’s password (his mother’s birthday, everybody knows), eyes concentrated on the task, breath controlled and even, posture straight. Even his hair is methodically done.

Honestly, it’s irritating; Malia smiles a little, a private thing.

Thing is, he _does_ look like a powerful creature of the night, just not the one you’d expect.

She’s gotta break the quiet, though. This is urgent.

\--

“So, you talked to her?”, she bumps against someone’s locker, not caring whose. He doesn’t even pretend to be surprised, what the hell.

“Yes”, he’s still calmly putting his books away, choosing the ones he’ll need because apparently they’ll be studying together later. As if she’d be able to focus.

“And…?”, ugh, can’t he see how important this is?!

“I don’t think I can study with you guys today”, he answers around a grimace. He closes his locker with a metallic sound, but she doesn’t even flinch this time; she’s gonna kill him.

“I’m gonna kill you”, maybe she’s lying, but her voice doesn’t waver. “You _told_ me you’d help me—”

“I _am_!”, he says around a smile, all lips, no teeth, and his eyes are the size of the moon. “This is me helping you!”

“How the hell is cancelling our studying—”

She’s distracted enough her senses fail her, and then she’s being interrupted again by a hand on her shoulder, scene going all slow motion-like, having to look down to watch Lydia’s pretend-smirk directed at her.

“I was thinking we should grab some food first”, she starts, already walking towards the doors; both were creatures follow her no questions asked, but she still looks at them as she continues, “Jared decided it’d be fun to show us what he had for breakfast in AP Bio, which looked so much like our lunch today I couldn’t make myself eat it. Honestly, Scott, I don’t know how you managed it.”

“Wolf stomach”, is all he says, stopping next to his bike. They both look at him expectantly, because they know him well enough, and it’s then he drops the bomb, “Sorry I won’t make it today—Deaton’s asked me to accompany him on a surgery, and I just couldn’t say no.” He even winks at them before putting his helmet on, the little devil.

Apparently, this isn’t news to Lydia, who just smiles quickly at him and turns to Malia, all cheerfulness, “So, yours or mine?”

It’s then that Scott’s plan makes a hell lot of sense.

\--

In the mere milliseconds she had before it got too weird not to answer, Malia’s thoughts consisted of _whose bed will it be better to make out on_ —it wasn’t a simple question, and its answer wasn’t simple either, you see.

Being thoughtful, maybe it’d be best at Lydia’s, because then she’d feel more comfortable. On the other hand, _Malia_ wanted to be comfortable as well, and there’s nothing safer to a coyote than its dent.

It’s not like it wouldn’t be weird for them to study inside a cave.

So Lydia’s it is.

\--

The moment Lydia’s bathroom door closes with a click, Malia grabs at her cellphone and types furiously, because she has to scream in some sort of way, it might as well be through her fingers.

_wth were u thinkin_

The answer is nearly immediate. Ten bucks he’s lounging at his house studying by himself.

_dont worry its part of the plan_

This is ridiculous.

_this is ridicoulsu ur ridiculous_

_how is part of t plan me makin fool of myself_

She’s huffing just waiting for the answer; meanwhile Lydia’s… brushing her teeth…?

_trust me kay make your move_

At the same time she’s typing _hoy sfhit shes brushin hert eeth_

_i haet you_

She doesn’t.

_you don’t_

The faucet is closed the same time Malia gulps hard.

_good luck_

‘Course he’d say that.

This _is_ what she wants, isn’t it?

Why the hell is she so nervous?

\--

Astonishingly, the most difficult fallout of beating her mother was the emotional.

It was the strangest whiplash; victory, hard won victory. For then to look around seeing the Desert Wolf at her feet, Braeden’s sweaty-bloody expression, the McCall’s hallway destroyed. Stiles had a literal shard at his back and she’s never felt _more_.

Her body was on overdrive. Deaton said it was the power she’s taken.

Her mind was overwhelmed. Are all their battles nearly lost?

When she got home, she hugged her father for long minutes, and he didn’t understand, still doesn’t, still doesn’t know, but he hugged her back, told her they’d be fine. Why the hell not, she believed him. Alone in her room, she looked at the memories she could have had, the ones that could not be taken from her anymore.

Victory, hard won victory. She cried herself to sleep.

The next day, she felt like calling Scott. Stiles had said the talons were his idea, that he just gave it to the boy in the middle of their biggest chaos yet, saying it was a plan, saying it’d work.

It did. She didn’t know what to make of it.

Honestly, she felt like calling Scott and thanking him. Strangest of things. Malia doesn’t think she’ll ever say it out loud, and maybe she should, but she’s thankful for the talons.

That night, the plan had been killing. She knows he knew that as well. Still, he gave her a way out.

It meant everything, the choices he’s helped her see.

\--

This is one of those choices.

Her first kiss was a hell of a ride. It was terrifying and exciting, and maybe she chose the worst possible timing, but she wouldn’t have it any other way.

Waiting for Lydia to come out of the bathroom, Malia can’t parse what was she thinking that night. What made her dive. If maybe she could remember it, she could use it now, cover herself in it. Like sex scent.

It all went down to the fact that she wanted it, so she tried to have it.

Now, though, her self-awareness is killing her.

\--

It was a week later the whole thing that Lydia came to talk to her.

Malia liked this the most about her friends, her pack. They were all such different specimen; she likes to watch the way their bodies reacted to things, the color of their eyes, and the quirks of their mouths.

Mason would tell a joke and his tone was cheerful, yet Hayden could repeat it using the same words but sounding mischievous, and Liam would laugh at both. Then Stiles would make a mean commentary and meanwhile Lydia would smirk, Scott would hide his fond smile, although both would find it funny. Or like Cory would look at Scott with distrust, sitting beside Mason, who had anything other than admiration to offer.

Their particularities made them unique. Malia liked this the most.

When Lydia sat in front of her in a bench after school, it wasn’t surprising they both smiled differently meaning the same.

She told Malia, that day, about what happened to her inside her own mind during her stay at Eichen. It was hard not to tell her this wasn’t something Malia wanted to hear, but it seemed it was something Lydia had to say, so she let the other girl go at it.

\--

Instinct, usually, doesn’t rule her anymore. Still, it’s difficult not to react when she sees her loved ones hurt or suffering. That time Tracy cut Lydia, for example; or the scent of Stiles’ blood under his hoodies while he sleeps. The _stench_ and the hole in Scott’s chest all those days in the aftermath of Theo’s murder.

So she understands Lydia’s story about fighting her bodily-prison in order to save her from her mother. It’s just—disquieting.

She feels special under Lydia’s green eyes. They’re as serious as they’ve ever been, looking straight at her, and Malia wants to say something beautiful too; that this is who they are to each other, though she doesn’t, for some reason.

It’s one of the hardest things she’s ever said, but it just slips out, “Thank you.”

She didn’t know Lydia had dimples up to that day.

She knows now. Somehow it feels important.

\--

All the while, there’s a running conversation going on. Impulsive behavior is a weak part of who she is now, and although she still reacts according to it sometimes, it was a big chunk of the bark; it’s been partially taken away by the wind.

She dislikes metaphors.

She dislikes even more that she can’t not think this over. It’s too important. She can’t just up off the bed, walk up to Lydia’s smaller softer frame and kiss the living shit out of her. It’s the easiest thing in theory, but her practice’s been in disuse.

There are a thousand questions roaming her mind, and she can’t make herself answer a single one; wants to just write _do you like me yes or no_ and hide it under Lydia’s bed, then run away to Arizona to live with her father’s family forever.

 _this is stupid_ , she types Scott.

_stop overthinking_

_life’s too short_

Isn’t that so, yet she’s too stubborn, _OUR lives r too short_

_more of a reason_

_DO IT_

She can’t explain her fears any way other than, _what ifssssssssssss_

The message is sent at the same moment Lydia leaves her bathroom. She’s barefoot, soft, and beautiful, and Malia wants, but she doesn’t know how to—how to _get_. Their eyes lock and Lydia’s smile is not something seen out in the wild world, she knows that. This is more. She sits beside Malia on the bed, and they wordlessly grab their books and pencils, but there’s something.

This is more.

There’s a new message on her phone, it says _u already know 1 answer tho. try a happier one_

Try the happiest one.

\--

The odd thing about relationships is that their desire to be cannot usually be explained. It’s not as if Malia has a lot of experience _wanting_ them, less even _having_ them, but that seems simple enough.

One day you’re there living your life, the other you’re attached, you can’t leave. Sometimes you really want to, and it hurts because it’s not easy to let go. There are times, though, in which you want to stay even if it aches; those are normally the times when it hasn’t ached yet, when the idea of it causing pain doesn’t scare you, but it feels as if it does.

Does that make sense?

She hates metaphors, and she hates what ifs.

She throws it all to hell, because this is one of those times. It doesn’t hurt enough to scare, and she wants it enough not to be scared even if it did hurt. And there’s no good explanation other than there’s a light in Lydia’s eyes she needs to hold for a while, she wants to share. There’s a plush in her lips she wants to taste.

So she does. To hell with metaphors, to hell with what ifs.

\--

One of the first things she’s learned in high school was: studying was totally code for making out.

You just don’t forget information as important as this.

And Malia’s pretty sure _Lydia_ was the one that’s taught her that.

There is a conversation to be had in the near future; they both know that, because their lives are way too serious not to be taken in kind. In the meantime, though, they do anything but use words, although there is a lot of talking.

Malia’s favorite kind of speech. Malia’s favorite kind of scent.

It’s beautiful and intoxicating. It’s hard and demanding. It’s greedy and molasses-slow.

It’s everything they both need right now.

It’s freedom in each other.

Words can wait a little longer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is Malia. It's way shorter than Scott's, or Lydia's, which is hUGE, and the cause is both cos I feel Lydia and Scott have too much to talk about and I love Elle Woods, but also because I can't write romance to save my life. I was about to go to bed because today I have to work super early, but then I thought how hard it'd be to write Malia's point of view, and then suddenly I was in my living room writing the shit out of this chapter. It probably sucks, I didn't have time to fret over it.
> 
> Anyway, I hope you've enjoyed this ride, I have!! I'm happy I was able to finish BEFORE season six, cos I know it'd hurt my writing feelings.
> 
> Thank you for reading up to here, thank you for commenting if you have, or if you will,
> 
> xx
> 
> And if you want, I'm on [tumblr](https://a-good-finder.tumblr.com), and it'd be nice to talk about whatever :)


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